Chapter 21: The Bet
9 p.m.
Gavin pushed open the door to Elias's apartment and flopped onto the living room sofa, groaning from overtime fatigue. A stack of car brochures tumbled out of his messenger bag onto the floor.
"All right, Elias," he said through a yawn. "Tell me. What's the deal this time?"
Elias perched on the edge of the coffee table, hands folded. He began recounting everything in meticulous detail: how he'd tried recruiting Claw in the dream, learned the truth behind Claw's murdered family, and discovered a shadowy organization called the TVA. Claw believed they were behind his father's death—and he robbed banks to accumulate enough money or clout to secure an "invitation" from them. Then Elias described his shock that very morning: in the real world, at work, he'd seen an actual envelope marked TVA—seemingly the same rumored "invitation" he'd heard about in the dream.
"Mmmm," Gavin mumbled between sips of water, his expression gradually growing more alarmed. "Go on…"
Elias launched into the final piece: after an entire night of dream chaos, he woke up to find Miranda Harrington (his boss) casually receiving that red, wax-sealed invitation for the "TVA."
Gavin nodded gravely, drank more water, then looked up. "I get it."
"You get it?" Elias repeated skeptically.
Thud.
Gavin placed his glass down with a determined finality and leaned forward, eyes locked on Elias.
"All of this still boils down to your subconscious."
"You're using subconscious as a scapegoat again?" Elias threw up his hands, exasperated. "Whenever something's unexplainable—blame it on brain science? I just spent ages telling you every detail, and you're back to that same old tune?"
"You're misunderstanding me!" Gavin cut in, palms raised defensively. "Last time in the bar, we got sidetracked by the World Cup. I never got to fully explain. The subconscious is a lot more complicated than you think."
Elias waved him off. "Keep it simple, would you?"
Gavin cleared his throat. "Look, half the stuff you see or hear each day, you forget by bedtime. But does it vanish entirely? Your conscious mind forgets, but your subconscious? It's storing it all. That's what leads to déjà vu or that sense of recognition when you see someone whose face you can't consciously recall."
Elias heaved a sigh and started to get up. "That's too convenient. Might as well write a sci-fi novel."
"It's not nonsense," Gavin insisted, tugging Elias back onto the sofa. He raised an index finger, voice earnest:
"Have you ever heard a tune—something oddly familiar—and felt sure you'd encountered it before, though you can't remember where? Have you ever passed a stranger and thought, 'Wait, I've seen them somewhere'? Only, you have no idea when or how?"
Elias paused. "…Occasionally."
"Exactly! Our conscious memory is notoriously unreliable—but our subconscious tucks away data from fleeting glances, overheard whispers, even random subway ads. One day, that locked-away info resurfaces in a dream, giving you a weird sense of 'I must've invented this!' when really you heard it in passing, but never registered it."
Elias frowned, arms crossed. "Fine, but you're still not tackling the real problem. I'm not stuck on why I dreamed of the TVA's name; I'm stuck on why it showed up in reality the next day!"
He shook his head, frustration mounting. "I only learned about the TVA last night, in my dream. Yet this morning, Ms. Harrington gets an actual TVA 'invitation.' How is that remotely plausible?"
Gavin shrugged calmly. "Ever heard of coincidence? Lots of people have dreams that mirror upcoming events. Sometimes they call it 'precognitive dreaming.' Most of the time, it's just chance."
"Chance?" Elias scoffed. "Do you realize how specific this is? In my dream, I conjured an entire backstory for the TVA—and then I literally see those three letters in the real world. That's not just luck. Also, my dream's weirdly accurate about certain details—like advanced math or city layouts I shouldn't know."
"So you do believe your dreams can predict the future, or you're starting to suspect it might be a real… timeline or something?"
Elias hesitated. "I don't want to think that. But yes, I've considered it. Could it be an actual future world? Or maybe I'm tapping into something bigger than me…"
For a moment, the two friends stared each other down in tense silence.
Gavin lit a cigarette, rummaging through his jacket. "Fine. You think your dream might predict the future? Let's test that theory."
He slapped a red-and-white betting slip onto the coffee table.
"What's this?" Elias asked, leaning closer.
"Soccer betting slip," Gavin said through a cloud of smoke. "Tonight at 3 a.m., it's the Qatar World Cup semifinal: Argentina vs. Croatia."
"You want me to—?"
"Yup. Go to sleep, do your dream thing, find out who wins. Then wake at 00:42 a.m. and tell me the result." Gavin shrugged. "If your future knowledge is real, we can confirm it by putting money on the outcome."
Elias flipped the slip over. Gavin had bet 100 dollars on Argentina winning at 2.3 odds, meaning a correct guess would yield 230. "Makes sense," Elias admitted. "If my dream can glean info about real events, we'd see immediate proof from a sports result."
"Go get some shut-eye," Gavin urged, powering on the TV and lowering the volume. "Oh, and if you can figure out the exact score, we'll bet that for higher winnings."
Elias offered a weak chuckle. "I doubt it'll be so easy. That dream world hasn't given me a direct pipeline to sports stats yet. I've tried searching their version of the internet—it's full of holes."
"How so?"
"Years ago, back when I first discovered the dream repeated nightly, I tried looking up the lottery numbers, major news, anything. Nothing I found was accurate. The info there was useless. No mention of 21st-century events or stock data—like some blank timeline."
"Huh. That does fit a dream's logic, I guess," Gavin mused, flicking ash off his cigarette. "But let's try anyway. 'Evidence outweighs speculation,' right?"
***
Elias stifled a yawn and stood. "All right, I'll try. Just keep quiet out here, okay? Don't disturb me."
"Sure, boss," Gavin teased, popping open a bag of chips and settling in front of the muted TV.
Elias stepped into his bedroom, flicked off the lights, and crawled under the covers. "Here we go."
***
Whoosh-!
A gust of summer wind caressed his face. Elias opened his eyes to find himself, once again, in that vast city square. He'd visited it so many times over the years—amid children laughing, street vendors calling, and a giant digital billboard overhead.
He checked the sign:
[ August 28, 2624 ]
[ 21:54 ]
"Huh," he muttered, scratching his hair. "So… the 2022 Qatar World Cup semifinal results—where on earth do, I even start searching for that here?"